A New Year, Same Opinions

It's been a while. I haven't blogged since June of 2015 - the start of the Christmas season - for a variety of reasons, top of the list being that once Presidential debates started, I elected to have a lobotomy.

Hillary's campaign is basically like "this time you have to vote for me, there is literally nobody else and you know it."

I like the idea of a Bernie Sanders presidency. Yes, put an old Jewish guy in the White House and finally end that predictable trend of a "first dog" who will, in all likelihood, be replaced by a goldfish with an anxiety disorder. Potentially named after Bernie's mother. It will have IBS.

The campaigning was overwhelming and really annoying. I ended up hating everyone and busying myself with other things, like practicing writing my name in cursive.

This year, my husband and I are expecting a tax write-off some time in the late summer. We joke about how he'll be pushing me around in a wheelbarrow like a giant walrus and dumping me into various swimming pools so I can cool off. The pregnancy started out as two tax write-offs, although, based on what I have gleaned from my doctor, that is not a guarantee as there is something called "Thunder Dome Syndrome" that affects multiples in the uterus, which is actually a mini thunder dome in which only one baby might emerge victorious and the other one just kind of vanishes. Or the first baby eats it. I guess I use the term "victorious" loosely here since they will be born to a troubled world of climate change and Hebrew school.

So far so good at the end of the first trimester. I am tired and a little pukey, which is really inconvenient. If I catch the faintest whiff of poop, I lose it. When not nauseous, I am like a hungry sweating sasquatch tearing through the kitchen on a dangerous foraging mission willing to strike down anything in my way. This is tough because I make sure there is no junk available, but the thunder dome seems to run exclusively on cheese, potato chips and horseradish. I am headed to first-name-basis-status with the kids who run the local Dairy Queen. I'm lactose intolerant, but that's not dairy, right?